


Maalzjin’senthru

by vasaris



Series: Yet the Force [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/F, F/M, GFY, No Beta, Sith being Sith, Threats of Violence, threats of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 22:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasaris/pseuds/vasaris
Summary: For these are the ways of old, before the outsiders came.The heart of Light is order and calm, heartless and empty, an endless plane of calculation and control.The core of Darkness is chaos and passion, life and death, an endless storm of self-destruction and rebirth.The brightest light is found within the darkest shadows, and the darkest shadow is created by the brightest light.It is the center calm that tames the maelstrom.  It is the storm that frees us into the sunlight.-- words inscribed on a wall in Ancient Qarinus, translated by Dorian Thalrassian, Darth TeizibeSaaraij Thalrassian thought she knew where her life was going.  She'd finish her degree, apprentice well, and serve the Empire as she had been born to do.Fate -- or the Force -- seemed to have other plans.





	Maalzjin’senthru

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, this starts on Korriban, it'll be a while before we see Malavai.
> 
> Will update slowly, but I'm hoping to round-robin it with Only the Force.

A small knock at the arch of her study alcove drew Saaraij’s attention from the Republic reports on the Battle of Druckenwell that her cousin had obtained for her. A nervy green twi’lek, stood in the archway, the tips of his lekku twitching as she met his eyes. Saaraij smiled softly, trying to soothe the fear in the lavender eyes, gesturing for him to approach.

“How can I help you?”

“I am sorry, my lord, but you have received a high-priority message from Korriban.”

Saaraij blinked. “Please, I’m not a lord. I’m just a student like any of the others here at the university.”

“As you say, my lord,” said the twi’lek. “But I am here to escort you to the secure holoterminal in the Dean’s office. You are to come immediately.”

“Korriban, you say?” Saaraij stood, sliding her datapads into her satchel and piling a handful of military histories on the corner of her desk where the librarian’s would pick them up for re-shelving. She snagged her backpack, grateful for the foreboding she’d felt this morning that insisted that she carry her complete kit with her today. “Any idea why?”

He glanced up at her, his expression neutral. “I’m sure I couldn’t say, my lord, but I’ve heard it said that there are Hunters on campus this morning.”

Saaraij didn’t stumble, but it was a near thing. ‘Hunter’ was the colloquial term for the elite units fielded by Imperial Intelligence to hunt down and apprehend illegal force-users within the Empire. By Imperial law, all Force sensitives were supposed to be trained. Most were found young. Those families that couldn’t provide private training, via family or expensive tutors, were required to send their children to Imperially funded schools to begin learning how to control and strengthen their gifts. Saaraij didn’t know the exact figures, the Dark Council refused to publish them, but it was rumored that perhaps one child in twenty survived the _kraujasvokti_ , the blood gardens, to enter the Sith Academy on Korriban. It was certainly true that often the parents of a Force Sensitive child never saw them again.

Saaraij remembered her father calling it a stupid and bloody waste, a sentiment often echoed by her mother in the years since his death. Saaraij thought it a crime against the citizens of the Empire. Indiscriminate slaughter of what should be one of the Empire’s greatest resources was stupid, and the reason she wholeheartedly supported her mother’s bitterly run campaign to seek out and adopt as many Force sensitive children that she could find and educate.

Saaraij herself was fortunate – privileged by her family’s wealth and power, and by her own heritage. The crimson stain of her skin declared her a cut above, a pureblooded sith, and her family had seen to it that she had received the best training possible from before she’d levitated her first toy. Her Apprenticeship had long since been arranged, given her interest in history and military tactics, but her Master to be, Lord Ascarion Perel, had set the requirement that she receive her doctorate in military history before he would officially name her such.

Saaraij was a registered Force sensitive with a future that looked exactly the way she wanted it, but even so, she couldn’t help but be alarmed at the mention of Hunters.

Her heart dropped into a deep hole in the ground when she saw a slim chiss woman and a bulky human-cyborg, standing at the Dean of History’s door. Both wore the distinctive red-and-black of the Sensitive Retrieval Unit. The chiss looked down at a datapad and back to Saaraij before nodding to her partner. It was no surprise when the twi’lek fled, getting out of what he likely assumed would be the line of fire.

Saaraij ignored the cyborg, and the frankly terrifying gun he’d pulled from his back, walking confidently forward despite the growing chill in her bones.

“I’m Saaraij, of House Thalrassian.” She held her hand out to the chiss like she encountered Imperial Agents all the time.

“We know. You’ve been summoned to Korriban to begin your trials for consideration of apprenticeship.” Red eyes with neither sclera nor pupil stared down at the proffered hand like it was covered in offal.

“Really? How odd.” Saaraij shrugged, pulling the hand back and shoving fingers into a tight pants-pocket and pulling out a pair hair bands. She dropped her backpack to the ground so she could pull her long, emerald-dyed hair up, and trapped it into a ponytail. She braided it into a long whip, making a show of chewing thoughtfully on her lip. “I’m already pre-Apprenticed to Lord Perel, and completing his requirements for entry into his service.”

“So the Dean keeps trying to tell us,” said the chiss, teeth flashing white against indigo skin. “Unfortunately for you, Lord Perel has registered no such intent with the Academy, leaving you fair game.”

Saaraij frowned, tying off the braid. “One moment.”

The chiss shrugged and grinned at her partner; a vicious kind of smirk that knew too much and enjoyed secrets that could make others bleed. Saaraij slipped a hand into one of the outer pockets of satchel, one too small to hold any kind of effective weapon and pulled out a piece of laminated flimsi. She looked at it, confirming that it said what she thought it did – it was an official copy of Perel’s Declaration of Intent, and it listed the requirements he had for her and her timeframe to complete them before her name would be released into the general pool of candidates to be put through the system.

She held it out, light sparking off the pristine lamination.

“Ah, yeah. The Dean said you’d have one of those.” The chiss spat at her feet. “Ask me if I care. You’ve been _summoned_ Imperial, and your choices are to become Sith or die. Here or at the Academy makes no difference to me.”

“Right,” said Saaraij. “I see. Might I at least have enough time to make my official withdrawal?”

The cyborg laughed, electronic and grating. “Dunno why you care about your grades when you’ll be dead in a week. Recruits like you is just fodder.”

“I dunno, mate,” said the chiss. “You saw how she moves. This one’s actually trained.”

 _This one,_ thought Saaraij rather sourly, had placed first in the bi-monthly Games that ranked known potentials who were not yet in attendance on Korriban, honing and showcasing the skills of those who had not yet passed through their local training, or, like Saaraij, were completing requirements for Masters that had already staked a claim on them. All went to Korriban for their final assessment, but the Games often determined the status – and difficulty of the Trials – an acolyte was subjected to.

Every tournament was a calculated risk. Saaraij had long made a point of scoring high, but not high enough to garner significant interest. But this last round had likely been the last before she defended her dissertation and gone to Korriban. Saaraij had wanted to place well enough to bring honor to herself and the Master who had so prized education he’d been willing to wait for her to complete it. There were few high-ranking Sith who would allow a potential apprentice to complete an advanced degree, seeing education _before_ the Trials on Korriban as a waste if an acolyte died.

She’d spent years fulfilling’s Perel’s requirements and her own desires, as their aims meshing nicely. He’d been very pleased with the demonstration of her prowess, and complimentary of the cunning that had kept her beneath the notice of other Lords. As much time as they’d both spent waiting for her to finish her schooling, Saaraij had thought he would bother to protect her in the final months before she graduated.

Clearly she’d been wrong. It was vexing.

Saaraij let her shoulders rise in a careless shrug. “I made a point of learning a little. It’s not like I didn’t know I’d end up on Korriban eventually. I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Sure you’re not just some pretty, pampered princess,” said the chiss. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes or we’ll come in there and drag you out by your pretty, pretty princess hair.”

“There will be no need for that,” came a deep basso from within the building. Dean Andron d’Kaith came out, his small, frail form brimming with irritation. Saaraij couldn’t help but smile at the outraged flush that darkened skin that had been permanently bronzed and weathered by a thousand digs on almost as many worlds. “Saaraij, I contacted Perel, but he says that his claim has been… usurped. He’s in quite the lather about it, but I don’t think he’ll be able to clear up the situation quickly.”

“Yeah,” she looked at the smirking Hunters and sighed inwardly, “I’m getting that impression.”

“I’m going to put you on leave, although who we’ll get to cover the introductory classes you were teaching, I’ve no idea.”

“Call Gelrin, he’ll be pissed, but he’ll cover. He knows where I keep everything in the Hole.”

“You graduate students really shouldn’t call your office that,” d’Kaith tsked. “It terrifies the undergraduates and lowers morale. Just because it’s in the sub-basement is no reason for the room to have such a moniker.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Doc, that’s not the reason we call it that. And it’s a step up from ‘the oubliette.’”

“I suppose so. I assume your grading is up to date and posted? Really, this is most irregular and inconvenient.” He squinted at the hunters, the thin transparisteel lenses of his glasses glinting sharply despite heavily overcast skies. “Are you certain you can’t hold off for a few weeks?”

“Yes. Now get on with it.”

The Dean narrowed his eyes further. “My dear girl, you are stealing one of my brightest students with the intent of turning her into either a corpse or a mindless thug. I already know her passion for learning, and if I choose to give her a goal beyond surviving the Academy, it is not merely my right and privilege, it is my _duty_ , as a servant of the Empire.”

The chiss blinked. Her partner guffawed, a strange sight on a being so thoroughly enhanced by cybernetics Saaraij couldn’t make out his original features, much less attempt to deduce his origin colony from the appearance of his hair or skin.

“Now, Saaraij, I would wager a hefty sum you didn’t know that there’s a specific kind of… well, sabbatical for this kind of thing. After all, it’s always a possibility, even if the odds of Awakening drop dramatically after puberty. So we do, in fact, have a policy in place. All you need is to defend your dissertation, correct? Your actual coursework is complete?”

“I’m reviewing some new data – my cousin put his hands on the Republic records regarding Druckenwell, can you imagine? So far my current thesis remains intact, but I may need to update a few theories, and there’s no way to know when I’ll be able to complete my research.”

“I see. Still. It may take you longer than expected, but I want you to send me a copy when you’re done. Dr. Ake and I will review it and once you make corrections we’ll do whatever we need to so that you can have your Defense the moment you have time free and can make it back here.”

Tears stung Saaraij’s eyes, and she blinked them back.

“You will survive my dear, and you will thrive, mark my words!” She heard the hope behind the pleasant lie, and scrawled her name in the flashing box on his datapad. “I’ll contact your Family head shall I?”

“If you would be so kind.” He squeaked when she pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you my dear. And if you could send me a copy of your cousin’s data?”

“You haven’t checked your mail in days, have you?”

“My dear, you will always be my favorite.”

“If you two are done, we’ve got a shuttle to catch.” The chiss caught her arm and she could feel the mile-wide barrel muzzle at her back.

“I’d wish you luck, my dear, but you have skill,” said d’Kaith, pulling away.

Saaraij barely had the chance to grab her pack before being shoved bodily into a ground transport. She would have protested if she’d thought it would matter.

“I hope you packed well this morning, since that’s all you’ll have on Korriban.” The chiss leaned back in her seat. “Bec is right, you won’t last a day. Crying about leaving school? You’re weak.”

“Care to make a wager on that?” Saaraij asked, turning her head to look out the window. It looked like they were flying out over the jungles that surrounded Kaas city to a private shuttle pad.

“Can’t collect money from the dead,” said Bec-the-cyborg, “an’ we can’t possibly have anything a Sith might want having.”

“Not true,” she told him. “You’ve got access to Imperial Intelligence, and that means you might have access to records I’d like to see for my dissertation, about some of the people involved in the Battle of Druckenwell.”

“You can’t possibly be serious!”

“Oh, I can,” said Saaraij. “How’s this – I survive the first week, I contact you. You meet me on the orbital station and I’ll set up an escrow account payable upon my death. Every week that I live, I’ll put in more money, and you provide me with data, whatever you can find, until I leave Korriban in a body bag or under my own power.”

“You’re on, fodder. Not that you’ll even be contacting us beyond the first week, as you’ll be dead, but if you make it? Why not? It’s easy money.”

“Kayle, I don’t know. What if the information is classified?”

“It was ten years ago, for fuck’s sake. There’s nothing to worry about. She’ll be dead anyway.”

“Give me your numbers,” Saaraij said. “We’ll see who comes out on top.”

-0-

“At last, you’ve arrived. Good, good. There is much to do and every moment is critical.”

Saaraij dropped her pack, sighing as she looked at the man before her. She recognized the voice, the smooth, dark skin and closely cropped hair, in what would likely be mutual displeasure.

“I’d like to say it’s good to see you, Tremel, but I’d be lying.”

“You will show me appropriate respect, acolyte. Our previous relationship –”

She snorted.

“—does not grant you leeway.”

“Blah, blah, blah. You still an Overseer? Sending kids into haunted and vermin infested tombs in order to ‘weed out the weak’?” Her fingers traced faintly obscene sigils in the air as she said it. “Cleansing the unworthy from the candidate pools?”

He backhanded her, his gauntleted fist lashing out in a Force-assisted blow she didn’t block. Saaraij felt the skin of her cheek split, black-red blood running hot down her face.

“I do not think you understand the position you are in, Acolyte. No matter what you aspired to on Dromund Kaas, _here_ you are nothing. No one. Just as it should be, for the get of a traitor and a whore.”

“Seriously?” Saaraij laughed. “You’ve disrupted my whole life to bring me here. It’s obvious that I’m not _nothing,_ Tremel.”

“Your ‘father’ led you to put on airs unbecoming a bastard. If you think the deception perpetrated by your family to foist you upon Sith society went unnoticed, you would be wrong.” He clenched his fist. “Your only advantage is that you’re the only even marginally suitable candidate for my goals. Nevertheless, I am _still_ here to ensure that you understand your place, or die. And if I cannot make you understand it, I have little doubt that others will be able to.”

“You’re as enlightened as ever. It’ll be a joy working with you, I can tell already.”

“Listen to me, you pathetic little worm. Your name and its power mean very little here. I could gut you, fuck you, and leave your carcass on this landing pad and no one would care. One more dead acolyte is of no concern to anyone. I am your only hope of salvation and you would do well to respect me.”

“Are rape and murder are the best you can come up with?” She shook her head. “Small wonder people hide their children from you. You can’t even come up with a decent evil overlord pastiche.”

He hit her again. “You have an enemy here on Korriban.”

“Just the one?” she retorted from behind a split lip.

“His name is Vemrin. He is well ahead of you in completing the Trials and currently has Darth Baras’ favor. He will not be pleased to find another candidate for the position of Baras’ apprentice.”

“Baras?” She stared at him. “ _Baras?_ Vemrin’s in good company then, since I’m not happy about it either. I mean, Baras? Really?”

That earned her a punch in the gut, stealing her breath.

“You’re going to need a blade. When you exit this place, you will be in the valley that leads into the Tomb of Ajunta Pall. Inside there’s an armory. Bring me one of the blades, and you may survive long enough to defy the world as it is again.” His hand flashed out, pulling her flush against his body. Saaraij could smell his excitement, the lust and anger he tamed to his will, and feel hardened flesh press like steel into her belly. “Had I time, acolyte, I would put that insolent mouth of yours to better use as is my right as overseer. But I have meetings to attend and you’ve a task to complete.”

He tossed her toward the door, sending her skidding across the duracrete before turning to walk away.

“Do I get a weapon?”

Tremel laughed, thick with rage. “What was it your whore mother always said? Any fight she needed to bring a weapon to was one she’d already lost? Too bad she proved it on Adaarani. Still, you’ve proven yourself able enough amongst those fools who do not train _here_ , show me that you are your mother’s daughter. Prove yourself worthy to be _Sith_.”

She watched him leave through a side passage before picking herself up and grabbing her things.

“I _am_ Sith, fuckwit. There’s nothing for me to prove.” She dug through her pack, pulling out a dataspike and heading over to the computer terminal on the far wall. Bad enough that Tremel had briefly served as one of her tutors, at least until mother had discovered the extent of his xenophobic assholery, but that he’d already made an enemy _for_ her was intolerable, as though she wouldn’t earn enough of them on her own.

It took only a few moments to slice into the computers. It appeared that this was Tremel’s personal shuttlebay and he was either lax about his personal security or had seriously underestimated her – or, more likely, both. Tremel had always assumed that she’d immediately follow orders issued by someone in authority to the letter, a trait that was going to earn him a lightsaber in the face.

Amidst the many interesting rules of the Academy – she wasn’t allowed to kill other acolytes, at least not where anyone could see – but everyone else was fair game. It was the job of overseers to ignite appetite and fervor in their charges, and everyone knew where those storms led.

It was a pity that Tremel had chosen to raise her ire instead of her lust. He was a good looking man with experience and passion, and she might not have minded allowing him the opportunity to use her, as she would have used him in turn. Then again, Tremel was of the sort that had spent half of her lifetime pointing out her supposed inferiorities. That her uncle had adopted her to spare the family’s reputation; that her _inestimable_ sire had proved a traitor to the Empire, and that in the minds of many Sith, Saaraij should have been strangled in childhood, old blood or not.

Saaraij shook her head, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. Vemrin, Vemrin, Vemrin – ah, there he was. A soldier that had been stationed on Balmorra when his Force abilities, and those of a friend had been Awakened by a brutal ambush. Their squad slaughtered, themselves taken prisoner – they had cracked under torture; not revealing secrets, but frankly obliterating everything in their path as they took revenge on their tormenters.

A rebel camp, a village of refugees, and a squad of Imperial soldiers had paid for their cataclysmic rage. If they hadn’t finally collapsed from the energy drain, they might well have done irreparable damage to the Empire’s Balmorran defenses. Vemrin was powerful and clever – a bit of a blunt instrument, she thought, reviewing his record, but he’d progressed well in the year he’d actually been training his gifts, and ultimately he would make a powerful Sith. His friend Dolgis was little more than a rabid attack dog, but that was no bad thing so long as he stayed leashed to his chosen master.

Saaraij bit her lip. What downside was there to Vemrin, aside from the usual insanity that the Academy seemed to graft into its graduates? By all the usual metrics, he was nearly perfect. Dark, murderous – small surprise, he was suspected of the unsanctioned killing of refugees even before his apocalyptic Awakening – but not especially crazy or out of control. If anything, his training in the Imperial Military seemed to have had a stabilizing effect on his personality. Why bring her in to sabotage his elevation to apprentice?

She glanced through his file again, trying to puzzle it out. What objection could Tremel have to him?

Ah. There it was. Vemrin was a native Balmorran. An unknown heritage that would, in the opinion of Tremel and those like him, _pollute_ what it meant to be Sith and water down bloodlines. That Vemrin was, if his file photo was anything to go by, both fit and powerful was immaterial to traditionalists like Tremel. The fact that Vemrin probably had very little difficulty convincing other acolytes to spread their legs, whether or not he resorted to violence, undoubtedly grated, like ground glass sealed beneath the skin.

Saaraij shook her head. Stupid. Yet another reason to shove a lightsaber in Tremel’s throat. She was beginning to look forward to it. She copied the data on Vemrin, and as an afterthought pulled as much information on Academy intakes as the spike would hold. There would be other opportunities to get the data – she did intend to kill the stupid, intransigent bastard after all – but more information was always better than less.

Stolen data stowed safely in her pack, Saaraij considered her options. The Tomb of Ajunta Pall was the gateway to the ancient ziggurat that had been converted into the Sith Academy. Even after decades, the Tomb and valley floor were overrun with k’lor slugs – a weird transliteration _t’thorslûguth_ in her mind, as the things were neither slime-trailing gastropods nor slow. They were chitinous, many-legged garbage disposals that would eat anything that moved and many things that didn’t. They bred rapidly, consumed voraciously, and frankly could be cleared from the tomb itself in a single push by the student population if Academy administration chose, instead of using the tomb as the first lethal washout for incoming aspirants.

Maybe she should simply slaughter the entire upper administration of the Academy. The Empire would doubtless be better off for it.

Saaraij exited the hangar into the intense, red-shaded sunlight of Korriban, letting the relentless heat sink into her bones. Red dust tickled her nose as a wind kicked up, making a lazy circuit of the valley floor, and she could see the tomb in the distance, the native stone rising blood-soaked above the rolling rusty sand and scrub, a forbidding gate to the cliffs above.

The touch of the wind was sharply intimate, as it always was when she set foot upon the birth-world of her people. Neither a caress, nor a blow, but always rousing and arousing, Korriban knew her children and sent her winds to welcome them home. Durasteel ramps gleamed in the afternoon light, leading down to the valley floor, and she trotted down them. To her surprise she met a combat medical unit as it made its rounds.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“Not at the moment.”

“You have bruising along the orbital of your left eye, strained muscles in your back, and deep bruising of the abdominal cavity. Please stand by for required treatment.”

Saaraij blinked at the unit, utterly bemused. “Well, there _is_ that, I suppose.”

The thing made an odd little noise, like a disgusted snort, and Saaraij could imagine it huffing ‘Sith’ under its non-existent breath.

“Please remove your shirt, so I may apply kolto packs appropriately.”

“Fresh,” she said, pulling her shirt up, almost giggling at the reflexive flirt.

“If I wished sexual congress, that might be true,” said the unit, “but instead I merely wish to offer each initiate the greatest possible chance of success.”

Saaraij froze, shirt tangled in her arms and over her face, her high, small breasts exposed to the exploring wind and brutal sun. Cold metal fingers touched the bruising on her stomach, and she knew she wasn’t imagining the tsking noises.

“It is unfortunate that so many Overseers insist on damaging acolytes before testing them, it is inefficient.”

How the droid managed to make its cool monotone also sound entirely disapproving, Saaraij had no idea, but it did.

“Does it happen that often?”

“Yes.” She felt the sting of a needle and the instant cooling sensation of kolto spreading through her veins. Ice cold salve was applied to her skin without warning and she yelped, her elbows coming down far enough that her eyes were uncovered. Saaraij glared at the droid, which continued its ministrations unperturbed by her squirming. “Warn a girl would you?”

“No.” The droid placed dressings over the kolto and pulled out a roll of compression tape. “Now be still. You have two cracked ribs. You should have reported them.”

“Hmmm. I didn’t notice.” She’d need to work on that – it was all well and good to channel pain and rage into focus, but not to the point she didn’t realize potentially life-threatening injuries. Cracked ribs meant broken ribs, meant punctured lungs and the first time had been a more than adequate lesson.

It made the snorting sound again, carefully wrapping her ribs and abdomen. When it was done it checked its work, nodding in what in an organic she’d have called satisfaction.

“Be well.” It started to wander off.

“Hey! Any chance you could take my things up to the Academy?”

It turned and looked at her.

“It is not part of my protocols, but I am due to return for re-supply. I am able to carry some goods and leave them with my compatriot at the medical station near the academy entrance, with the goods recovered from acolyte corpses. We hold such goods in the name of acolytes who turn them in for several days before they are taken to general auction. There would be a small fee for you to recover them.”

“That’s fine,” she said. Going into the Tomb without proper weapons would be awkward enough without her backpack and satchel flapping about. Still… Saaraij considered it, pulling her spare shirt and the thin leggings she kept in her backpack out, along with the fragrant box of Korribani cedar that she never left home without. She replaced them with her datapads, handing the heavy pack to the droid.

“How long until it’s sold?”

“Four days.”

She looked out across the valley, considering her lightened load and the single vibroblade concealed in her boot. Unclipping the strap from the satchel, Saaraij re-arranged the length so she could wear it snug against the small of her back.

“Well, if I make it, great. If I don’t, I’m probably dead. So, plenty of time to do or die, I suppose.” Saaraij grinned at the droid. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Service droids are not given individual designations.”

“Ah – ah – ah! You’re as individual as anyone else, so you should have one of your own. How about ‘Terafias’?”

“It is rather unoriginal,” the droid objected, injecting so much indignation into its monotone that Saaraij laughed.

“I named my first felinoid ‘cat’, and Terafias sounds better than ‘medic’, don’t you think? If I yelled medic, I might get an organic person rather than you, after all.”

“You are a peculiar specimen,” said the droid, droll. “As an organic, you may call me what you wish.”

“Well, no, that’s not how this is going to work. You get a choice, and if you don’t want an individual designation, that’s fine.”

“No! Terafias is fine,” it shifted from foot to foot. “You are kind, supplicant Thalrassian. It is unexpected. I have updated your medical file and alerted the Office of the Quartermaster to your presence on world. You will have designated quarters by the end-of-day. I will arrive by nightfall for re-supply. I could place your things in your assigned quarters.”

“I would like that,” she said softly. “I don’t know how long it will be before I get through the tomb, though. I’ve got a vibroknife and a bad attitude, and that’s about it.”

“In my observation, that is enough for Sith. And you are Sith. I will see you at the Academy. Be well.”

She watched the droid stalk off, heading up the ramps, presumably toward the ‘not filled with k’lor slugs and who knew what else’ path to the Academy.

“Well, it’s nice to know that someone realizes that.” Saaraij sighed. “Right, onward and upward. And now you’re talking to yourself, which is always a sign of mental stability in Sith.”

The desert wind laughed at her and she knelt, letting her hand rest upon the silk-powder grit of Korriban’s desert sands. The Force flowed strong here, Dark and pure. Saaraij took a breath, then another, letting it roll over her tongue like wine, seeking out the essence and pull of it. There was death, of course, the natural decay of flesh and time, and there was life, teeming everywhere, frenetic and lustful, spending itself beneath the burning skies. There was water, perhaps a klick away, fresh and bountiful. A pack of tuk’ata lazed there, long-limbed and deadly, razor spines glistening with poison in the sunlight.

The path ahead had once been paved, though one could hardly tell through the layers of sand and withered corpses. There were traps laid about, seeking mind and flesh. Some were new, others as ancient as the Tomb itself. The Force whispered, lurid and sibilant, of all the things that had happened here in blood-soaked horrors. It invited her to dwell in ancient passions, to lay herself bare, and Saaraij laughed aloud, standing.

“I have chains enough, Mother,” she told the earth that had birthed her people. “I’ll not take up more.”

The wind tugged at her hair, pulling loose green-dyed locks in something like pained approval and the haunting voices stopped. Saaraij left the trail, letting the Force guide her steps. Not trusting it – no, not trust, for all Darkness was treacherous, even when it had no intention to be – but confident that for the moment her aims aligned with the spirit of the place, the _genius loci_ of the world.

She was Sith.

Saaraij walked until near nightfall, taking a winding path that skirted the grossest dangers of the valley, coming only then to the entryway of the Tomb, where artificial lights burned bright against the chilling air. Shots barreled into the surrounding darkness as she moved into the surrounding bubble of light, frantic yelps echoing off the cleared flagstones in undisguised horror.

“My lord! Oh, stars – I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I didn’t realize you weren’t one of them, them things! Ye should have said sommat, my lord!”

Saaraij positioned herself near the center of the ring of light, looking up at the soldiers that had rigged up lookouts up on the wall.

“Shut it, corporal,” called a man from further along the wall who jumped down to meet her.

“You mistook me for what, wildlife?” She let her amusement bleed into her voice. “K’lor slug or tuk’ata?”

“Young k’lor slug by size, my lord, though I’m sure you’re more than deadly enough to be terrify a tuk’ata.” He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Most acolytes they send us have weapons, my lord.”

“My Overseer apparently decided I could do without,” she told him, “somewhat to my dismay.”

“I’d imagine. We’re forever clearing the bodies of acolytes who _have_ them, at least when we have the time.”

“Difficulties, sergeant?”

“There’s always difficulties, my lord. It’s the mark of a good Imperial when we work together to overcome them.” He motioned to the darkened doorway. “I’m certain the major would be glad to see you.”

“Of course,” she told him cheerfully. “Anything I can do to help, it’s a Sith’s honor to serve.”

“As you say, my lord. This way. I suppose I should warn you. The major is a bit… uncouth.”

“I see. Is it a problem?”

The sergeant’s mouth opened and then closed with a snap, consternation lighting his eyes like a thermal grenade. Saaraij shook her head.

“Don’t worry too much about it, sergeant. I’m a little… let’s call it _salty,_ myself.”

“Very good my lord.”

They descended into murky darkness, following faint miner ’s lights until they reached the fortifications in the entrance hall.

“Ah, Sergeant Cormun, I see you’ve found us a Sith!” The sounds of blaster fire echoed down to them from the forward fortifications. “Welcome to the Tomb of Ajunta Pall, my lord, the rectal tear of our glorious homeworld. As you can see – and hear – we’ve been having a bit of a problem holding the beachhead into the tomb.”

“Indeed, Major.”

In the corner of her eye, she could see the Sergeant covering his eyes.

“Supplicant Thalrassian,” she said, holding out a hand in greeting.   The major stared at it in surprise before taking it in a firm grip. “How may I be of service to you, Major?”

There was an explosion, followed by a high pitched insectoid scream that rattled Saaraij’s teeth.

“I’ve no idea how it was done, my lord, but somehow we’ve tomb raiders further up inside this damned mausoleum. They’ve been there for days, possibly a few weeks. No idea how they got in; I assume Imperial Intelligence will work that out. Or the Inquisitors. All _we_ know is that they’ve been pushing back on the k’lor slug nests, flooding the lower passages with the vicious angry beasts, and we’ve not the manpower to deal with it. We’ve sent word to the Academy, but we’re not sure that our messengers have gotten through, between the damned slugs and those fucking pirates.”

“Holocommunications are down?”

“Here in Korriban’s eternally bleeding asshole?” He shook his head. “It’s down more’n it’s up, between the miles of stone and the property damage the bloody damned slugs do. Can’t get a transmitter up long enough to make contact. We’d send someone out around the long way, but for the fact we’d have to abandon the Tomb completely, an’ even then we’d lose half the squad to the bloody-minded traps and the wildlife. They’re not goin’ to worry about us for another week or more. It’s not like they notice when one of you acolytes fails to make it out alive, but for the paperwork.”

“Have there been any recently? Aside from me?”

“Four, but we don’t know if any of them made it to the exit at the top of the cliff.” The man harrumphed. “I’d love to know how the damned looters are getting in and out, what with the entire damned _Academy_ sitting on top of them.”

“So would I,” Saaraij murmured. “Shall we plan my assault in the morning? I apologize for the delay, but I began my day at five in the morning in Kaas City, on second-day. I’m not actually certain what day it is now, to be honest.”

“Hunters?” asked the major. “Assholes, it’s part of their whole thing, to make sure the weak don’t even make it to the steps of the Academy. It’s fourth day in this glorious shitslide of a tenday, and by the rules I should send you out naked with a dull knife.” He snorted. “But you’ll be doing us a favor, so it’s no skin off of my nose if Cormun finds you a place to bunk down, despite the standing orders.”

“Of course, major,” Saaraij turned, masking her displeasure at the major’s attempt at plausible deniability. She had no problem with breaking rules, so long as the perpetrator owned it. “ _Have_ you a safe barrack, Sergeant?”

“Yes, my lord. The slugs have not overrun those passages, and I can clear the ’fresher for your use.”

“I’m not too proud to share a shower with the troops, you know.”

“Perhaps not, my lord, but I assure you that we are too proud not to give you the deference you deserve.”

“Do try to spare my blushes.”

“I have no idea what you mean, my lord,” Cormun’s lips twitched. “If you will follow me.”

“Lead on!”

They turned away from the sounds of fighting, and Saaraij saw that the stairwell down had actually ended in the center of the room. There were corridors marked with lights, and Cormun led her down one, shoving a door open without ceremony.

“Here you are, my lord. I assume you could use some privacy, and stars know that Lt. Marrek won’t need them any longer.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“My pleasure, my lord. I’ll clear the showers – one of the previous commanders managed to get us water ones, to supplement the sonics, and I’m sure I can talk a few people into giving up their ration.”

“Including you, Sergeant?”

“Of course my lord.” He stepped into the room and closed the door. “If I may my lord?”

“Of course.”

He knelt before her, one knee up, elbow resting upon it as he looked into her eyes.

“Until the threat is done, I offer you my Service, my lord, in any capacity you deem necessary or needful.” He licked his lips. “My family is mostly Sith, my lord, I know there are… things that you can do to prepare for tomorrow, that you might not otherwise be able to employ.”

“I see,” Saaraij said. “And I suppose you’d get nothing out of it.”

“I am Drawn to you, my lord. Unlike some, I know what that means outside of stories.”

“Do you, now?” His eyes gleamed in the half-light, shimmering with latent power. Like called to like. The traditionalists liked to say that the Draw was meant to keep the bloodlines uncorrupted, which was pure folly – and why so many of them had begun to fail. The Draw called power to power, concentrating and expanding the Force when it was allowed to operate the way it should. Saaraij rubbed her thumb over his lower lip and he sighed at her touch, eyes falling closed. She didn’t feel the Draw herself, his potential too weak, but she felt a spark over her skin as his tongue touched the pad of her thumb. “Very well, I accept your Service. I need a weapon. Blaster or blade, I don’t care – no, wait, a blaster, if you please, in good condition. And schedule a time for that shower, in the morning.”

She stepped back allowing him to rise. She pulled off her filthy garments without ceremony. “Sonics will do well enough for these, return with them and some food if you will, enough for us both.”

“Your will, my lord.”

“Yes,” she said, catching his arm before pulling him in. They were of a height, and his lips were soft as she took them, an ungentle invasion to remind them both of what was to come. “Go, and be ready for me when you return, Sergeant.”

“Yes, my lord,” he breathed hot against her lips before pulling away, she smiled as he walked out the door, considering his trim hips and wide hands. Doubtless he would report to the major that he’d be _serving_ her all night, his own plausible deniability for the rules he was violating, but Saaraij didn’t care. He was right, there were things she could do to increase her strength.

She sat in the utilitarian chair that served an equally utilitarian desk, letting the chill of the metal crawl up her spine. The edges were sharp enough for discomfort, but that was fine – just another point of sensation to draw in as she breathed, slow and deep, letting her hands trail up and down her thighs.

Inhale, a stroke upward, curving in, a tease. Exhale, a brush across the belly. Inhale, a languid trail up her newly healed ribs, along the piercings that decorated the ridges armoring her belly and sternum, made even more sensitive by the cold air of the tomb. Exhale, a glide along swelling flesh, collecting the dew gathering in the folds. Inhale, fingers sliding across her tongue, slick with juice. Exhale, wet digits teasing the jeweled bars upon her nipples, while the others slid slow and languorous into her hole.

Inhale, pleasure. Exhale, passion.

Saaraij let it build, slow and steady, coiling into power she could feed into her reserves.

Cormun opened the door, eyes widening as he took her in, legs splayed wide and wanton as her fingers pumped, slick and steady in her core.

“Undress, Sergeant.”

He hurried in that way military men did, making haste but slowly. It wasn’t a show, but it was efficient, revealing a tapestry of scars that intrigued her. She would have to look at them.

Later.

Her thumb slipped idly over her clit, playing lightly with the piercing there, and she hummed, coming softly. It did little to relieve the pleasurable tension growing in her belly, instead serving only to prime the pump. Fragrant slick poured over her fingers, the secondary arousal of her sith physiology building. It had been days since she’d last touched herself to gather power. Need raged beneath her skin, and would take hours to sate.

“Kneel.”

Cormun did so with unexpected grace. She offered him her fingers, slick with juice and he sucked them, ravenous and needy. The Force vibrated between them, dark and sweet, as she pulled her fingers back, spreading her cunt open before him.

“Fuck me with your tongue, Sergeant, and I’ll decide if you can fuck me with your dick.”

“Yes, my lord. Do you wish to come, my lord?”

Saaraij laughed. “Yes, how often do you think you can manage it?”

“I’ve never had any complaints about my technique,” he said, lips brushing against her flesh before laying his tongue on her. Saaraij buried her hands in his hair, undulating against his tongue as he drank the dripping _ihigaaz_ from her cunt, savoring the spice-sweet oils of arousal and fertility. “Is this for me, my lord?”

The words vibrated against her flesh, tongue snaking upward to play with her clit, and the piercing along its hood.  A finger, unexpectedly wide, breached her, and she keened in surprised pleasure. Orgasm crashed, sharp and unexpected so soon after the one brought by her own fingers, followed closely by another. It was good; power, pleasure and want released in a blaze of glory as she shuddered on his tongue.

Cormun’s hands came up, steadying her as he spent what felt like hours melting the bones from her body one by one.

“Good enough?” he asked, panting against her sweat-slick belly, and she loosened her grip on his hair, laughing.

“Take what you want,” she told him, a surprised gasp escaping as he picked her up and slammed her back against the wall.

“I want you to come until you can’t anymore,” he said, hot and biting against her ear. “I want you to fill me with power until I burst.”

She wrapped her legs tight as he hilted himself within her, his mouth hard against hers as cock and tongue matched stroke for brutal stroke. Saaraij rolled her hips, a feral growl building low in her chest as she let the growing energy bubble up and over in a seemingly endless wellspring of pleasure.

 _Now,_ the Force whispered to her, dark and satisfied as they convulsed, belly to belly as the power dove in. Cormun jerked and shuddered, amber eyes blown wide and glowing as they began to hover, entwined, above the floor. The Force fountained over, an unstoppable deluge as Cormun’s latency shattered, and he screamed, rapturous in her ear.

“Be careful what you wish for, Sergeant,” she said, brushing sweat-dark hair from eyes that now burned a clean and molten gold. “I’ve always tried to accommodate my lover’s desires.”

“You are overly generous, my lord,” he panted, burying his face in her neck, hips continuing to jerk in helpless little thrusts as the Force pushed him from crest to crest. Saaraij lowered them down into a sweat-stained heap on the floor, draping him over herself like a blanket.

She laved her tongue behind his ear, tasting sweat and power as he slowly stilled. “You got your force energy, Sergeant. I believe you owe me all the orgasms I can stand. Keep in mind that I am of the old blood – we fuck harder, longer, and with more success than mere mortals. Do you think you can keep up?”

Cormun pushed himself up, golden eyes shining in the half-shadow. A hand lifted, and he brushed her chin with careful fingers before letting it drift down the jeweled trail that ran from breast to cunt. His eyes followed, glittering with passionate desire. Wide fingers replaced his softening cock as he lowered his lips to the gem-studded tip of her breast.

“Oh, I can keep up.”

-0-

Morning arrived, and though Saaraij hadn’t slept, she vibrated with the energy she’d generated with Cormun.

“Is it always like this?” he asked, as he sucked shower water off of her breasts. She suspected that about half of the off-duty soldiers were watching them fuck, her skin a scarlet splash against the pristine tile of the showers. Envy and lust pressed against her skin with each roll of Cormun’s hips and she laughed against his throat.

“Ummm, yes,” she mouthed the word against his ear, coming undone as he spilled inside her for the last time. He shook against her with a low cry, and she shattered, power spilling unfocused in a wave of pleasure and darkness. He held her there, panting, hips pinning her to the wall like an exotic insect he wanted to keep forever. Saaraij kissed him, trapping his lower lip between her teeth and pulling back, drawing the faintest hint of blood. “You’ve given it a good go, Sergeant, but I don’t think you quite made it to ‘out of orgasms.’”

“Perhaps not,” he acknowledged, letting her down reluctantly. “Perhaps I’ll get another chance, one day.”

“Perhaps you will.” She tossed him a packet of cleanser from the inset on the wall. “Get cleaned up. We’ve a war to win, soldier.”

“As you say my lord.”

“None of that now,” she said, “you’ll be an acolyte once we hit the upper doors.”

Cormun stared at her, jaw dropping open at the realization. Saaraij couldn’t resist, stepping forward and drinking the surprise off his lips with a small laugh. She stepped back before he could catch her around the waist.

“Wash, acolyte.”

“I… oh,” he stared down at the packet, which started dissolving in the warm drops of water, and he rushed to pop it, lathering quickly. “I’ve heard of it happening, but I thought it a fairy tale.”

“Mmmmm. It isn’t common, granted,” she popped her own packet in her hands, rubbing briskly to release the neutral scent and absurd mounds of foam the standard military skin cleanser produced. Saaraij was careful to keep it off of her face and out of her hair, since it also contained a daily-use depilatory – she’d spent far too long growing her mane to let it go so easily – and scrubbed down with a will.

“I’m sorry about the audience,” said Cormun, and she waved it away.

“I’m not fool enough to think that they wouldn’t want a look,” she said, sluicing off. “And we’re the ones who chose to give them a show.”

“My lord…”

“If I minded, I’d’ve had you standing at the door, not thrusting hot between my legs. Don’t fret about it.”

“As you say.” Uncertainty danced in his eyes as the last gleam of molten gold faded back into pure amber, the energy he’d gathered to himself subsiding into a controlled thrum.

“Let them imagine themselves buried between my thighs,” she said, letting her voice carry. “Let them imagine me however they want. Let their passion drive them, having seen the kind of pleasure Sith can offer, as well as the pain. Let them work for my regard, in hopes that someday they, too, may serve so pleasantly as we have with one another.

“And each time they think of me,” she lowered her voice, “each time they touch themselves, each time they come with my image in their minds, I will receive a small gift of energy. You can feel it can’t you? The power they spill into the force with their lust and envy? Why turn it down, when you can harvest it?”

“I see…” he rinsed the cleanser from his body, leaving himself clean and smooth, with only his scars on display. “Is that what it is?”

“It’s some of what you feel.” She turned the shower off with a flicker of the Force. “Our mother is the rest.   Korriban loves her children; passionately, jealously, tempestuously. There is a great deal of energy to draw on, here, and little is docile. Still, we’ve made her a pleasurable offering, I expect she’ll be gentle with you. At least at first.” She stepped into the drying tube, sighing as a blast of arid heat swept the water from her skin. Her clothes sat in a pile on a bench, a pair of blasters bracketing them. “You’ve good sonics down here.”

“Have to, they’re slow about resupply, for all that the Academy is so close, and we’ve got to keep whole what we can.”

“Hmmm. I should ask about that.” It was unconscionable that their soldiers should suffer so close to the seat of the Dark Council.

“What was that, my lord?”

Saaraij could feel his gaze upon her and she turned to meet his gaze. She shrugged and smiled at him, getting a sheepish grin in response. Saaraij dressed. Combat hadn’t been what she’d had in mind when she’d dressed days ago, but it was always a thought in her wardrobe. Armor would’ve been nice to have, but she wasn’t selfish enough to ask these soldiers to go without, not when skill would likely do.

Thank the old gods for her mother’s paranoia. Every piece of clothing she owned was made of a very basic shielding material, enough to keep a blaster from killing her outright, and Void knew she was capable enough of killing the holder of one right back. It wouldn’t do much against the piercing jaws of a k’lor slug, but one couldn’t have everything.

She found that Cormun had provided her with an army-issue utility belt, and had to laugh. Her spare shirt and the thin leggings she kept with it would easily roll up to fit in the capacious pockets, and the box could be easily fitted into a rigid slot at the small of her back, designed to house a back draw for lightsabers or a similarly sized stack of datapads.

“You’re a genius,” she told him.

“It’s a nice satchel, don’t get me wrong, my lord – and you may want to keep it for whatever we may find once we take on the bloody looters, I don’t imagine the belt will be enough, but to ensure that what you brought makes it out with you? I thought you might like it.”

“You’re sweet,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“All a part of the service, my lord. But if you could avoid telling my superiors that, it’d be appreciated.”

“Right.” She re-arranged the fastenings so she could store the box behind a standard-issue datapad and put the belt on, checking to ensure that she had full range of movement before strapping down the associated thigh holsters for the guns. “Nice weapons.”

“Thank you, my lord. I’d appreciate getting them back when we get out.”

“My word on it. Unless I’m dead, of course, in which case you’d best take them off of my corpse.”

“No worries there, my lord. I’ve spent a lot of time looting failed acolytes while hoping a slug doesn’t get me.”

“Flattering,” she told him. “Your faith in me is so _very_ flattering.”

“You’re the one who brought it up, my lord. I’d think you’d be more interested in my prowess as a carrion scavenger.”

“Rude.” She looked at him, perfectly neat in his uniform and polished to an impossible shine for a man who had spent the night trying to exhaust her. Then again, _someone_ had taught him the basics of transforming pleasure into power, so it was no surprise that he, too, vibrated with energy.

Cormun caught her by the waist, reeling her in for a thorough kiss. “I’d like a chance to see you when you honestly can’t come any more, so don’t get dead, if you don’t mind my asking. Or even if you do. My lord.”

“Being polite at the end of the sentence doesn’t fix the middle, you know.” She touched his cheek, letting her thumb brush across kiss-swollen lips. “I am Sith, I can promise nothing but that my will is to live.”

“In which case, I’ve nothing to worry about then, I’m sure.”

Saaraij laughed as they exited the shower, unashamed in the face of envy and disapproval as they walked past. She was Sith, passion was her strength, and she fair hummed with it.

“Whore,” said one soldier as she passed, and she turned.

“Be glad I’m heading out to defend your wretched life, soldier, because it means I don’t have the time to get your name.” Saaraij stepped forward, into his space. “And be grateful that I am not another kind of Sith, because I value each and every one of you more highly than I do almost anything else in the galaxy, else I would crush your fucking liver and walk away while you screamed yourself to death. As it is your comrades can’t afford to lose you, not because you think a Sith generating the power she needs to destroy your enemies is unseemly.”

She looked around the room. “You’ve been fighting here, in the very heart of our Empire, in the very soul of what makes us who we are without respite. I know this. I would have spent the night in solitary meditation, if not for the offer of Service, and hoped it would be enough to see us all through. The Sith are many things: violent, licentious, terrifying and cruel. But we also _serve_. I am here to defend the Empire, which means that I am here to defend _you_. Whatever it takes to do so to the best of my ability, I will do, because you are _mine_ to protect.”

A startled murmur ran through the watching soldiers and she felt her lips quirk in a razor-thin smile.

“Still… I am technically getting to fight in recompense for the fucking I received, I suppose it does make me a whore,” Saaraij said thoughtfully, tracing the idiot’s sneer with a finger. “But honestly, since so far that’s meant a duel of words with an unarmed half-wit, I’m being dramatically underpaid.”

Several people started laughing, and a few others began to clap, a growing roar of approval that made the sneer fall right off of the soldier’s face.

“I strongly suggest that you never let me set eyes on you again, corporal. Even if I don’t know your name, I will _always_ recognize you.”

“My lord, it’s time to go,” said Cormun, touching her shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll be able to see to adequate compensation.”

Saaraij followed him out of the room and they headed toward the forward fortifications.

“Do you know where the armory is?” she asked in a lazy drawl. “I’m supposed to go there and get an ancient and powerful weapon.”

“If by ancient and powerful, you mean the crates of oddly styled tech-blades that they send down every few months, then yes, I do. It’s not far from the Sith that lives in the basement.”

“I suppose that most of the acolytes that go down there end up with a case of terminal mortality?”

“You might say that.”

“There you are, acolyte! Cormun tells me he’s sworn into your service for the duration, and I’ll not say I’m happy about it.”

“That’s Acolyte Cormun, now,” said Saaraij. “The Force has spoken.”

“Well, shit. Force sensitive? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, what with his family and all, but he’s a damned fine young soldier and I hate to see him off to the Sith.”

“I, for one, welcome men like him.”

“So I hear, my lord. For that matter, so did everyone on that hall.” The Major rolled his eyes. “You’ll want to head down first, if you want a blade, and they’ll not accept you in the front door without one, unless I miss my guess.”

“You’re quite right.”

“When you come back up, you’ll want to make a push that way,” he pointed down the main corridor. We were able to set explosives in several nests up the hall, but weren’t able to trigger them before we were overrun. If you can do that, we can sweep up behind you and fortify up. Beyond that’s the grand stair. There used to be four nests near the top, but it’s hard to say. Might be more now, with the migration down, might be fewer and more looters, but the entire level used to crawl with the slugs, breeding fast and consuming each other, or at least the random acolyte.”

“How far up do we need to go?”

“If you’re going straight toward the exit? Three floors.”

“Do I look like the kind of girl who goes straight to the end?”

The major studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “I think you’re the kind of Sith that likes to see a job done right the first time. Ziggurat opens out on the fifth. There’s room up there for a small landing craft, though fucked if I know how it’d go unnoticed. Might be intruders, might not be, no way of telling, not from the hoary bowels.”

“Thank you, Major. I’d apologize for stealing your Sergeant, but I’m not at all sorry for it.”

“I’m certain he’ll do well, milord,” the Major snapped his heels together. “I’ve enough men that if you clear the floors going up, we should be able to secure them for the moment. Once we’re actually in contact with the Academy, we should be able to get enough reinforcements to hold it without issue.”

“It sounds like an adequate plan. Sergeant? With me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Cormun led the way. He carried a heavy rifle as well as a vibrosword, but generously allowed her to provide covering fire as he rushed k’lor slugs far taller and heavier than he was. Saaraij rolled her eyes, holding up the pistols and firing with explosive accuracy.

He stared at her from where he was covered in viscera. “What the fuck was that?”

“A Sith with a blaster,” she said, shrugging and walking up. “We’re trained to handle energy, and my cousin helped me refine it.”

“A blaster can’t –”

She pointed at the exploded heads.

“—alright a blaster can, but that. That’s not normal.”

“No.”

“You don’t really need me for this, do you?”

She grinned. “I’m well trained, so… probably not, but _you_ need _me_ and I won’t leave anyone behind. Also, I can’t keep that up indefinitely, as lovely as all the power we generated is. You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

“Why aren’t you a Sith already?”

“Well, I’m not an _apprentice_ because the Lord I thought would be my Master wanted me to finish my doctorate. But I am already Sith – as are you. Don’t let the rhetoric around Force use confuse you. _Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Passion gives me strength. Strength gives me power.”_ She took a shot, eviscerating three slugs by using the Force to split and concentrate the beam, “ _Power gives me victory. Through victory my chains are broken and the Force shall set me free._ There’s nothing in that that requires you to use the Force. Even before your Awakening, you were Sith. You weren’t afraid to use your passion to gain strength, to obtain power, even freedom – even if it was only for the night.”

He grunted, sheathing his blade and pulling his rifle. He began taking aim, making a crude attempt to mimic her use of the Force. He was strong, she thought, enough now to make her twinge a bit with the Draw. Skill would come with time and practice, provided he was afforded any, and the slugs fell around them.

“You knew?” He brushed sweat-slick hair from his eyes.

“I’m not an idiot, Cormun.” She took a shot at a slug, using accuracy rather than power to end its existence. “House Cormûn, cadet branch of House Regûshk, known for a steady stream of successful candidates for the Sith Order, though most are only moderately powerful. You’ve enough of the Old Blood to feel the Draw. Why wouldn’t you seek Awakening?”

He sighed. “You’re actually _Saaraij_ Thalrassian, aren’t you.”

“Statement, not a question,” she quipped. “And, yes. I would have thought it was obvious, none of my siblings are purebloods.”

“One is, my lord. And he’s already been through, or so I’m told, though shouldn’t he be a Pavus?”

“ _Cousin_ Dorian, you mean? His father keeps trying, and Dorian keeps saying no, like the stubborn asshole he is,” she said fondly. “I hear the last time they saw one another there was actually a public shouting match that ended in Lord Halward wrapped in chains of force lightning. Only it wasn’t because my cousin is a flamboyant bastard who manages to conjure that shit looking like fire.”

“So I’ve spent the night sharing the Pleasure Principles with _you_. I’m not sure if my sisters would approve or be horrified.”

“You knew I was a Thalrassian when you offered Service. I’m pretty sure I’ve met your sisters at some soiree or other. I imagine they’d be horrified you risked your seed on me, what with my _taint_.” Saaraij hummed. “Polluted bloodine, a raft of siblings without pedigree. What will ever come from my House adopting Force sensitive alien slaves?! I’m not sure if they think it’s subversive, or if they think it’s catching. Either way, they don’t invite me to their parties. I hope you’re not as hidebound.”

“No. Sent off to the Military Academy the second they realized I was Force blind. They don’t invite me to parties either. Too much of an embarrassment.” He laid down a rain of heavy fire as they got to the bottom of the stairs, taking out half a dozen slugs and some seriously pissed off droids that shouldn’t even have _worked._

“Are they fucking serious?” she asked, distracted. “They repair droids older than the current Empire for these mockeries of Trials? _Really?_ How stupid do they think I am?”

“That’s… actually that’s more than normal, I think. I haven’t been down here for a while, and normally they don’t move until they’re disturbed.”

“Oh, that’s probably all my fault,” came a chipper voice from across the room. “I’ve been trying to collect all the irritating things for the last couple of days. The right evil bastard that’s my Overseer seems well and truly invested in making me dead for some reason. I’ll be taking a great deal of pleasure in exposing his ridiculous bullshit, and then I’ll make him kiss my shapely arse.”

A tiny blonde woman stepped out of the shadows, a practice blade strapped along her back, though she didn’t seem to need it, what with the purple lightning wreathing her hands.

“The name’s Asla, by the way. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, surely, especially if you’ve been dealing with the damn slugs. They keep coming down, just a bit faster than I could deal with on my own.” Her head tilted to the side. “Well, I might’ve been able to, except half the droids seem to like me best of any possible target.”

“Saaraij,” she pointed to herself. “Sergeant Cormun, though he’s Awoken, so it’ll be acolyte Cormun soon enough. We’ve cleared the worst of the infestation, at least down here. We’re planning on moving up and clearing the damn tomb so the soldiers can secure the area. I just have to complete my particular task and get a blade.”

“Well there’s a whole bloody stack of the things in that crate over there,” Asla pointed. “I thought about replacing the flimsy piece of shite my Overseer sent me off with, but Harkun’s a petty bastard. He’s like as to accuse me of murdering another acolyte to get it. They get grumpy if you kill other acolytes.”

“Kill your Overseer instead,” Saaraij advised cheerily, as Cormun turned to stare at her. “Seriously. They’re fair game.”

“Are they now?” Asla grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind, though I’m thinking that showing him up for a fool is a better long term punishment. I get promoted to Apprentice, and Lord, he’ll have to answer to me, and that’ll grind like sand between his asscheeks.”

“I can’t believe you,” Cormun spluttered. “My lord, you can’t just kill Overseers!”

“Watch me.” She stretched, listening to her back crack as she worked the kinks out. “I’m going to make mine regret his life choices and then I will kill him with his own blade. I’ll do it in public, if I can manage it, for maximal humiliation.”

“Damn, I thought Harkun was bad.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is. _Mine,_ however, is poison here at the heart of our Empire. _That’s_ something I’m just not going to tolerate. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Remind me not to piss you off,” said Asla.

Saaraij flashed her teeth.

“Are you a loyal servant of the people of the Empire?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll get along just fine.” Saaraij sighed. “I imagine it’s too much to hope that Tremel hasn’t got sensors in there, or otherwise marked the specific blade.”

 _“Tremel’s_ your Overseer? Then yes. He always replaces the blades in that Tomb personally, so he can positively identify them. I don’t know if there are sensors.” Cormun shook his head. “Good luck killing him. He’s a powerful duelist, I hear.”

“If he was that good, he wouldn’t be an Overseer. Those who can, do. Those who can’t… well they gleefully engineer the deaths of thousands, just to prove their supposed superiority. It’s stupid and wasteful.”

“Now that’s a pure truth.” said Asla. “Want any help?”

“Appreciated, but – no. I don’t like to lie if I can avoid it, and frankly, he doesn’t want to kill me, I’m too important to his schemes just yet.”

The task wasn’t easy. Neither was it difficult. The tomb was a trap designed to bolster confidence before testing the supplicant’s mettle. Enter the tomb, steal the blade from the sepulcher, then fight your way out. If you got the blade you were nominally worthy. If you failed, well – too bad you didn’t have any formal training with long blades before coming in.

Saaraij wondered how many acolytes had died here simply because they hadn’t been raised Sith. She cut down the training droids – because that was what they were, no matter what lies they were dressed up in – feeling disgusted that this was even considered a test of her skills. The k’lor slugs had been a challenge, if for no other reason than they came in small hordes. This was just another rest day at her family’s estate back when she was a child.

She stomped back out, the active blade burning red in her hand. Cormun had scavenged a blade for himself, testing the weight and balance before drawing the vibrosword as well.

“Dual blade?” she asked.

“I’ve the basics, and I thought it might be fun. We could make a competition out of it.”

Asla raised her hand. “Am I included? I mean, we’d have to start now, since I’m probably well ahead of you given the last couple of days, but I’d be happy to take you on.”

Saaraij snorted. “He just wants to deprive me of my pay.”

“The negotiated terms were not _sex_ for _bloodletting_. There were no negotiated terms at all!”

“Oh. There’s a thought. Do you suppose there’s much of a market?” Asla asked, curious. “Fucking for fighting? Would that make you a whore for battle?”

“This cannot be possible,” Cormun muttered. “There are _two of you_. How can there be _two?_ ”

“I think he may be regretting his life choices,” said Saaraij, offering her arm to Asla. “Ungrateful, really, since it was his idea to begin with. _And_ we broke his latency block with sex.”

“Oh, like in the tales, you mean? Sounds fun.”

They went up the stairs while Cormun stared after them. They were almost to the first blockade when he caught up, apparently over his little fit.

“I see you’ve found us another Sith,” called the Major. “Keep up the good work!”

“I’m still feeling vastly underpaid,” Saaraij yelled back.

“Then get to killing, Sith!”

She did, going back to back with Cormun, the Force singing in her veins as her blade flashed. The slugs fell wherever she went, and they detonated explosives in every actual nest they passed. The pirates were more difficult, as neither she nor Asla wanted to harm the artifacts the looters had packed away, but still no match for their combined might.

“Weird,” said Asla as the last of the raiders fell. “I mean, my old master would be horrified – he’d been part of the Reclamation Service and bought me specifically because I was young and more likely to actually absorb Old Sith, ’cause it’s a right bitch if you don’t start learning it early…”

“….I know.” Saaraij stared down at the containers full of artifacts with a frown. “Believe me, _I know_.”

“…so I’ve spent time around archaeological sites and helped clean up the aftermath of void-damned artifact pirates, the bastards, but… is it just me, or are these bins absolutely full of just random… shite?”

Saaraij looked down at the box at her feet, staring at random bits of chipped off rocks, half of which had nothing on them, and the rest far to worn for anything, even sale. They weren’t even geologically interesting, which was curious of itself, but the people in these rooms had been willing to fight to the death to protect them.

“Random shit. Useless random shit at that,” said Saaraij. “Although valuable to these guys, since they were willing to die for this stuff. We manage to leave any of them alive?”

“No,” called Cormun, holding up a dismembered hand. “You were being quite thorough, my lord. Although _this_ is interesting.” There was a tattoo visible on the heel of the palm. It looked like a prisoner identification number, the easiest to expose of those inked into the skin of the Empire’s worst criminals.

“Prisoners? Why prisoners?”

“A challenge beyond the slugs? But why?”

“My lord, humans are harder to kill than animals, not that all, or even most of these prisoners were human, but the rule still applies. But a Sith that can’t kill another sentient is of no use to anyone, and a waste to train. Better acolytes die here than make it out.” He looked around, clearly disgusted. “These prisoners were just fodder, put here as an obstacle without thought to the effect it would have further down. I imagine it didn’t even occur to anyone that these men and women would do their best to preserve their lives however they could. They just figured they could be replaced easily whenever one fell to slug or blade.”

“Poor strategy,” Saaraij agreed, unimpressed on many levels. It was a stupid waste of resources. Not the prisoners, putting them to something resembling use was simply good sense. But failing to account for the lives of good soldiers? Even if there was any sense in weeding out acolytes who would fail due to a simple lack of training – something that could be _rectified_ – or lack of aptitude for killing, which was hardly a grievous sin, it was unforgivable to place loyal men and women at such risk, not when it could be suitably managed. It was not the way of the Sith, or at least it shouldn’t be.

But that was an argument that would have to wait until she had sufficient power to punch the Dark Council in the head repeatedly until they listened, Void-willing.

“So basically, we just came through and slaughtered a bunch of people for no reason?” Asla sounded mildly distressed.

“No, we eliminated a bunch of people who forced the k’lor slugs too far down into the tomb, so good Imperial soldiers were being killed. Even if they were here by design, it’s a good day’s work.”

“Ah,” Asla pursed her lips, frowning a little as she considered it. “Well, that’s all right then.”

“And we’ll be able to get some reinforcements for our soldiers, and whatever idiot came up with the idea can come up with a better execution of it. But that’s not for us to determine.” Saaraij looked over at Cormun. “Sergeant?”

“Yes my lord?”

“Come here.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Once we’re through the door, your Service to me will be at an end, Cormun. I won’t be needing these any longer.” She pulled the blasters from their holsters and offered them over. “I’m keeping the belt.”

“Indeed, my lord,” he said, laughter vibrating under the words as he tucked the guns into his own belt.

Saaraij grinned, pulling him close enough to take his mouth, reveling in the blood and death they’d wrought. His hands fell to her waist, responding in kind, dark energy building between their hearts as tongues battled for dominance. The bubble swelled and burst as he relaxed, surrendering to her greater power.

“Peace is a lie,” she whispered against his lips. “There is only _passion_. Passion, strength, victory and freedom, Cormun. Go through the door, Sith, and dominate your destiny.”

She pulled back, watching him grip his warblade with a self-assurance she’d only seen flashes of in battle.

“Damn,” said Asla. “What do I need to do for that kind of sendoff?”

Saaraij looked at her, considering the fey creature that housed so much power and Asla stepped forward, the top of her head barely reaching Saaraij’s chin.

“You need no instruction, my dear,” she told her, before sampling the perfect bow of her fellow Sith’s mouth. Asla arched into her, sliding her leg over Saaraij’s thigh and grinding upward. The Draw hit Saaraij low in the belly, and she moaned into the kiss, dark energy fountaining between them.

“Void and stars,” Asla breathed, shuddering against her. “How… how do I channel it?”

“Like this.” Saaraij lifted Asla, pinning her to the wall as they ground together. “Active meditation. Pull the pleasure, the _passion_ in, transform it as you would your sorrow or your rage.”

She ran her hand up Asla’s leg, sliding under the skirts of the other Sith’s robe as Asla writhed in the grip of the Force. It didn’t take much, not after a day of adrenalin and slaughter. A feather-light touch to slick, swollen flesh and Asla came undone in a glorious fumble, swallowing down the energy generated like she was born to it.

They heaved against one another, foreheads touching.

“Remember this,” said Saaraij, lowering Asla to her feet. “You are Sith.”

“Yes,” Asla agreed. “I am.”

 _And so am I,_ Saaraij thought, passing through the gates to the entrance of the Academy.


End file.
